


just stay with me

by delinquentpanda



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Kidnapping, M/M, Sort Of, Swearing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, dracula actually caring about his kid a bit more, everyone is bad at emotions, they're petty little boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23049469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delinquentpanda/pseuds/delinquentpanda
Summary: Dracula deals with his grief by trying to find a companion for his son instead of killing all humans. Adrian doesn't approve, and neither does Trevor.
Relationships: Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Trevor Belmont
Comments: 40
Kudos: 439





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> s3 reminded me i have this and i wanted to go back to a time where i didn't have my heart broken so here we are.
> 
> title from pet by a perfect circle. none of the lyrics really have much to do with this but the feel of the song stuck in my head when i tried to title this

“You want protection from Dracula?” Trevor scoffs. “As if his castle would just appear right outside this damned tavern?” He’s torn between scorn and amusement at the ridiculousness of the request. Putting on his most pitying tone, he says, “I’m quite sure Dracula has more important places to be than a pimple on the backside of Wallachia.”

Everyone, including Trevor and the red faced man in front of him holding a piece of stale bread for bargaining, stops when a low rumble begins. People pale rapidly and start gathering anything not nailed down to throw against the windows and doors. The man, B-something, shakes his bread at Trevor and exclaims, “See! See! You damn fool! Now you won’t even get bread for taking him on! He’ll be coming soon!”

But the Hunter isn’t even looking at him anymore. Trevor is stuck staring out the nearest window numbly. There, in the distance, just inside the woods beyond the village, dark spires jut out at unnatural angles and tower over everything in sight. Clouds are already gathering and Trevor faces a dilemma he has no time to really think through. 

“Shit,” he hisses through his teeth, striding through the patrons of the bar and shoving a chair away from the door. Looking at his hand on the door handle, Trevor scowls. “My life sucks.” Then he’s through the door and heading toward the ancient enemy of his family. 

—

Getting there takes less time than expected, which, why wouldn’t it? Trevor has never had many favors given to him, much less from something as merciless as time. Trees have been felled by the arrival of the castle so he hides behind a particularly big trunk and takes a moment to think about how to get in. There’s not many options beyond just waltzing through the front door. Somehow, he doubts the vampire has much need for sewage channels. The exterior is unfortunately smooth between window ledges and balconies. 

Trevor feels a flare of anger at himself. Normally he’d have busted in already. He’s stalling. But of course he’s stalling! It’s fucking _Dracula!_ Trevor hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in a week. He can’t remember the last time he ate something besides shitty bread and ale. He’s not even sure he has enough weapons to last him two minutes in a battle with any vampire, let alone Dracula. 

“Fuck.” He scrubs his hand through his hair. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

“I suppose you’ll do.” The voice startles Trevor and he instantly knows he won’t turn in time. A blow, and his vision goes dark.

—

“Your kind are odd, Hunter. Weak, yet so eager to fight, and, ultimately, die. Always rushing toward the end, running into the arms of the death so many fear. Hm. Perhaps you’ll be a better match, then. The others were nearly animals in their fear.” A pause, then the dark voice continues, “But then, some I assumed would be more composed… weren’t. We shall see.”

Groggily, and damn it does feel like a bad hangover, Trevor squints his eyes open. His head hurts and his vision is foggy. Then again, even if he were actually hungover, he’d still recognize the fact he is in a castle, a very, _very_ large one, and that big shape pacing in front of him is most certainly a vampire with how he damn near glides across the floor. 

Okay, Trevor thinks, trying not to panic, this is okay. He had to get in the castle somehow, right? This just made it easier. Dracula — fuck, shit, fuck, it’s _Dracula_ — stops and turns on his heel toward Trevor’s prone body. Red eyes burn into his and, yeah, no, this was probably the worst possible way to get inside. Fuck. 

Moving is now the only thing on Trevor’s mind, adrenaline pumping and clearing his vision in a split second. Have to get up, get some space, where’s his weapons? Ice shoots down his arms when he realizes he can’t feel any of the usual bumps between him and the floor. Of course, Dracula can touch holy items for a short amount of time, especially when covered. What the hell is the vampire planning to do to him?

“You are panicking as well, but I can see you are also scheming. I’m sure you’ve noticed I’ve disarmed you by now.” Dracula sneers slightly. “I would not recommend doing anything without thinking it through, but that notion is probably lost on a Belmont.” At Trevor’s scowl, Dracula sighs, rubbing his temple. It confuses Trevor a bit. Can vampires even get headaches? Either way, he uses the moment of apparent distraction to get to his feet and leap back. He’s a touch unbalanced, but that’s what happens when you’re knocked unconscious by a vampire. No weapons, but there’s plenty of random shit on the walls to work with—

A hand wraps around his throat, as cold and resolute as stone. Dracula stares down his nose, almost disappointed. “What did I _just_ say, Belmont? You have nothing that can—” Trevor punches him in the face, and fuck, it hurts, but it does seem to stun the vampire lord, so he does it again. And once more, because the hold on his throat isn’t loosening at all, which, _bad_ , very bad. Rage makes an appearance on his captor’s face. Okay, that’s much worse. “You insolent, ridiculous, inferior _mongrel_ ,” Dracula snarls, fangs bared and eyes going black. His aura almost glows with malevolence.

“Father?” The call comes from up and behind them. Trevor would groan if he could. Another fucking vampire? The son of Dracula? Since when? “Father, enough of this. Stop!” And then Trevor is thrown against a stone wall. He feels, and hears, a few things snap when he hits a sconce and crumples to the ground with a wheeze. Laying there, he’s able to take in the blond, nearly white hair of another vampire standing between him certain death. Well, certain quick death. Who’s to say this new one won’t keep him a bit before killing him?

On a scale of ‘one’ to ‘about to be a family buffet’, Trevor thinks this is going poorly. Then he passes out. 

—

He’s getting very tired of waking up to monologues. The blond vampire in front of him doesn’t seem to notice, or at least care, that Trevor’s regained his consciousness. “...completely unbelievable that he’d just grab a damned Hunter from the woods, as if that is any sort of solution. I was forgiving for the others, because he’s, well, he’s trying, Mother, but a _Hunter?_ This is too far. Say the Hunter had actually been able to get a weapon? Of course, Father would prevail, but an injury in his state would certainly embolden the other lords.” He pauses, slumping into a chair, clutching a picture frame. His hair falls and shadows his face as he stares at it. “Oh, Mother. What should I do?”

“I'm in favor of letting the Hunter go,” Trevor rasps. It triggers a cough that causes enough pain to know he most certainly has a broken rib. Shit. Well, not drained yet; he can work with that.

The vampire, Dracula Jr.? Whatever, he stands and puts down the photo. “You’re awake.” His stance is stiff, but his unnervingly pale eyes are as piercing as Dracula’s.

“Don’t sound so happy there, someone might mistake you for feeling something.” As the words leave his mouth, Trevor understands that, perhaps, he shouldn’t antagonize his new captor. It’s a little hard to control himself, however, when the facts of his situation are weighing on his mind like a brick. He dies, or he brings down a few blood suckers and then dies. There’s not much more to it than that. Trevor had hoped he’d live a little longer than his mid twenties, but such is the life of a Hunter. Several family members had less.

“Would that I could release you, Hunter. You are injured,” Dracula Jr. says tonelessly. 

Trevor scoffs. “And whose fault is that? Either release me or kill me now.”

Some heat enters the vampire’s voice, even if not his face. “It is _yours_ , in fact. Had you not been stalking the woods, had you not assaulted my father—”

“Yeah, well, maybe don’t kidnap random townsfolk, huh, bloodsucker? Guy in the town over was trying to buy protection for his family because _you_ fucks are killing anyone you can get your claws on!”

Recoiling, he snaps, “We do not _kill_ anyone! They are returned as soon as I am able to get them back safely.”

“Oh yeah? The ones that do get back are stark raving mad, while the rest ‘safely’ get eaten by you and yours. Or do they simply get lost and starve to death?” Trevor wheezes a laugh. “Right, you don’t kill a single one, not at all.”

“And what do you know, Hunter? You murder those merely trying to survive, you take trophies, you _revel_ in your disgusting legacy.”

“I kill monsters like you to keep people safe!” Pointing a finger to emphasize his point, Trevor pales at the pain moving his arm causes. He keeps himself up right just barely, sweating all the while.

The vampire regains his composure abruptly, leaning back where he had unconsciously been bent forward with indignation. “And yet, you are the only one left, aren’t you? Protecting those that quite obviously don’t want your protection, how _noble_.” Despite dripping with condescension, his voice is soft and smooth, like a knife so sharp you don’t realize you’ve been cut until you bleed. He walks to the door, saying, “You are injured, and unlike your kind, we have decency. You will stay until you have recovered enough to not be eaten by wolves immediately, but certainly no longer.” The sneer is audible, though Trevor is only able to see his pale hair and pristine shirt. “My name is Adrian Tepeş. Do not injure yourself further trying to leave, my father is still unhappy with your choice of assault.” 

Trevor stares at the door as Adrian closes it, growling when he hears it lock from the outside. He lets himself slouch a bit, which also hurts but doesn’t strain his muscles as much. “Bastard,” he grumbles to himself. Refusing to think about what the vampire said to him, Trevor instead looks around. Of course, there is absolutely nothing in the room beyond the bed he’s on and the clothes he’s… not wearing.

Where the fuck are his clothes?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mild abuse of italics incoming

Adrian pauses in the middle of a hall, clenching his teeth. He won’t regret his words. He _will not_. Not when the Hunter sat there, acting as if he had any sort of moral superiority. Not with his mother’s ashes sitting in his father’s study, scraped from the damned _ground_ and mixed with burnt wood and dust. Tears gather unbidden in his eyes for the tenth, hundredth, thousandth time. Choking down the urge to shut himself away, to leave and sleep and ignore everything for the rest of eternity, Adrian continues to where he senses his father. He has a purpose so he focuses on it, willing himself to calm down. 

The walls seem colder, somehow, even with the same torches lighting his way. Small flickers invade his peripheral vision—ghosts, or memories. At this point, they mean the same. Approaching the tall doorway, Adrian refuses to hesitate. He opens the door without knocking. Let Dracula be annoyed with him. Before, that would have garnered at least a scolding, a small rebuke, _something_ , but Dracula merely stays sitting, staring at his mother’s painting, as he almost always seems to be now. It makes Adrian more blunt with his words than he has been.

“You cannot keep doing this,” he states forcefully. “I know you are grieving, just as I am, but this is not the way. Kidnapping random people, honestly, it’s absurd, and you’ve refused to explain yourself. I do not _understand_ , Father. We have blood, we have no need for guards, you have taken people of various backgrounds with hardly two the same, and we keep moving around—what is the point?” 

“Have you gotten rid of the Belmont yet?” Dracula asks.

“Gotten rid of the— Did you hear me?” Gritting his teeth, frustration wells. “Father—!”

“I plan to move on soon, there’s hardly anyone worth looking at here.”

"For what?" the dhampir demands.

"For _you_ ," Dracula snaps. He glares to the side, nails digging into the wood of his chair. 

The scraping hurts his ears enough to prompt Adrian to stutter, "What?" Surely, surely he’s not saying what Adrian thinks. 

"You… you must have someone,” he whispers fervently. “You must. You _must_." Dracula’s hand reaches toward the painting, fingers stretched, but he doesn’t rise and his hand drops to his lap after a moment. “She’d like that. She wanted that for you.”

"I don't understand, Father," Adrian says weakly. But he does. It's insane, cruel as well, but it somehow makes sense. His father lost the love of his life, but his son has a chance still. Several things snap into place, the first and foremost getting Dracula to stop taking people. (And if he quietly, desperately thinks _I don’t want someone, I want my father_ , he doesn’t dwell on it. He can’t.)

"I don't want to have another."

"Do not be stubborn—"

"No, I want," he stutters a moment, disbelieving the words about to leave his mouth, "I wish to keep the Belmont." It was the right thing to say, at least, because Dracula finally turns to him fully, eyes bright.

"You do?" Dracula presses, leaning in.

"Y-yes."

Subsiding, Dracula seems to consider that. After a moment, he declares, "Very well. Ensure he doesn't attempt to attack me again, but I will leave him to you." And he settles back in his chair, thoughtful. There's less desperation about him, but that just leaves an aura of exhaustion that his vampiric complexion refuses to show physically.

With nothing more forthcoming, Adrian turns to leave. The door swings closed heavily behind him, the thud of it echoing through the cavernous halls, which is fine because Adrian now has to come to terms with what he's just done. Without the pressure of the moment, without Dracula's wild eyes pinning him in place (and when did they become so? When was the last time his father looked him in the eyes?), the weight of his decision settles in his gut.

And he must convince the Hunter to cooperate. Shit.

—

Opening the door, there’s only a second for Adrian to dodge the fist aimed at his throat. He balances the tray of food in his hand, but the spare clothing tucked under his arm slides dangerously. Going by the angle of the Hunter’s arm, it would have been a fairly painful and possibly crushing blow to most other creatures. Adrian is torn between exasperation and, strangely enough, excitement. It’s been months since he’s last felt the latter emotion, and even the small burst of it is enough to have him faltering. He nearly misses Belmont’s dive for the door, in fact, but manages to grab the Hunter’s shoulder with his free hand and throw him back onto the bed just in time. “That didn’t work for my father but you decided the same attack would work on me?” he asks, curious despite himself. 

A wheeze rattles from Belmont’s chest, undoubtedly his landing aggravating his injuries. Weakly, though, he responds, “You dodged.” That was not what he was expecting as an answer. So the Hunter does have some level of intelligence to have picked that out, even if it just pertains to combat. It’s more than he thought he had to work with, which is relieving.

“Not many enjoy being punched,” Adrian says.

“I dunno,” Belmont grunts. “Builds character.”

Adrian hums dubiously. “I’m unsure about ‘character’, but I do know repeated blows to the head can damage one’s ability for rational thought.” Judging by the glare being sent his way, the dig doesn’t go unnoticed. The corners of Adrian’s lips fight to twitch upward.

“What do you want from me, Vampire?”

“Firstly, I am a dhampir. Secondly, I’ve brought food and clean clothing. I should check on your injuries, too, if you’ll allow me.”

After a second, Trevor moves himself up the bed, sitting up and leaning against the wall. His gaze is assessing. “A dhampir?” 

“Yes.”

“Hm.” Eyes dropping to the perfectly balanced tray in Adrian’s hand, Trevor asks, “Is the food poisoned?”

“Feel free to check,” is the sardonic reply. Adrian puts it down on the floor, away from the door. It’s simple broth and bread, which was all Adrian could throw together in a timely fashion, but he doesn’t feel like having it wasted if Belmont decides to try and attack again if he goes too close to the bed.

“Right,” Trevor snorts. “You still haven’t told me what you want from me.”

“Yes, I have.”

“No, you haven’t. You keep me here despite me wanting to leave, so if you and your _father_ ,” Adrian’s eyebrows draw down at the sneer in Trevor’s voice, “don’t want me dead, then you’re keeping me for another reason. What is it?”

Adrian sighs. Is there a delicate way to put it? All throughout cooking, many different ways for phrasing it passed through his mind, but somehow he still blurts, “My father has decided I am in need of companionship.” Both men freeze. Trevor can only stare, mouth gaping, for a moment.

“You mean to tell me,” he begins slowly, visibly processing, “Dracula, vampire lord haunting Wallachia for centuries, has been kidnapping random people because _he wants his son to get laid?_ ”

Offended, and more than a little embarrassed at the interpretation, Adrian snaps, “My father is not looking for a sexual partner for me!” Trevor just looks up at him incredulously. Adrian then realizes, perhaps, that’s actually not an inaccurate summary. Shit.

“That is… fucking stupid.”

“I’m aware,” he says, voice strained.

“That’s not only fucking stupid, it’s _fucking ridiculous_.”

Adrian doesn’t want to voice his agreement twice but there’s not much defense to be made for Dracula’s plan. Now, he just has to broach his own, “fucking ridiculous” plan. "Yes, well. I think a temporary solution would need your, ah, cooperation."

Trevor stares at him blankly. "As in, play along?"

"Yes."

“No.”

Irritation lashes through Adrian. "For God's sake, I'm not asking for your hand in marriage, Belmont, I'm simply asking for you—"

"You're asking me to pretend to want to fuck you?" The disbelief in the Hunter’s voice stings pride Adrian didn’t realize he had.

"As if you're a catch by any definition," Adrian snips back, annoyed. This was not how he imagined the conversation would go, and he almost wishes Belmont would try and fight him again. 

"No one's complained yet," Trevor says, but it seems more automatic than anything. He looks conflicted and distracted, a deep scowl on his face, but he keeps his eyes on the dhampir.

"I'm fairly sure prostitutes don't give reliable feedback to their customers." Adrian cuts off any protest Trevor is beginning to make by throwing the clothes he got for the man into his face. “Think on it,” he says, taking a deep breath and abruptly sobering. The guilt of what he’s about to say crawls up his throat, sticking just above his breast bone. Adrian tries to calm himself, tries to remind himself of the facts of the situation.

His father is in mourning, yes, but he’s still a powerful vampire lord. He wields inescapable influence, he knows magics and science long forgotten or inaccessible to most, and he does not seem to be a frame of mind that lends itself well to being agitated. Logically, whether the Hunter decides to go against Adrian’s plan or with it, something must be done. So, with clear tension, Adrian warns, “Do not hold your prejudice higher than the good of the world, Belmont. I… I fear allowing my father to continue would not merely be detrimental to a few unlucky people he stumbles upon, if this goes on much longer.” Revealing the threat, alluding to the weakness of Dracula’s current mental state—vague though it may be, it feels so much like betrayal. 

Swiftly leaving the room, Adrian makes sure to lock the door again. The next time he visits, he’ll have the Belmont’s answer and go from there. If he still refuses, he’ll let the man go, but until then he’s not willing to have him wandering around and possibly encounter Dracula. Imagining the possible confrontation only adds to the twisting in his gut. For the second time in less than a day, he stands outside Belmont’s room, emotions rioting within him.

Adrian just wishes, distantly, that he didn’t have to be the one to deal with it. That his father held himself together better, or was less dangerous, or at least more vulnerable— _something_. Something other than the heavy weight of duty left to Adrian, to care for or destroy his father. 

He’s never been one to crave companionship. He's never needed to. He’s had his mother, his father, his books and their teachings. He’s learned about animals and seen the world, though admittedly from a distance. Not once has he felt the need for a friend, not really. Alone in the hall, however, he finds himself hoping Belmont will agree. He wants someone knowledgeable, capable, to share his burden with. Admittedly, Adrian thinks, he must be a little desperate for company if this is what he’s willing to settle for.

(He ignores the fact that, for the last fifteen people his father has taken, he’s merely talked to them a bit and sent them on their way. He ignores how much riling up the Hunter satisfied him. He ignores that Belmont pays attention to him in a way he hasn’t had since his mother was still alive.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm still thinking thoughts about this, it just takes a while for it to get on the page lol

Despite what many think, Trevor is not a complete idiot. 

Sure, he’s prone to drinking, but what reasonable man isn’t in a world like this? And sure, he’s best at talking with his fists, but he’s young and has a lot of youthful vigor. And, yes, maybe he’s most creative when in the middle of a spilling night creature’s blood, his name _is_ Belmont, isn’t it? 

However, he’s not stupid enough to ignore the prime opportunity he’s been given. He’s equally aware that under cover work isn’t his strong suit.

On one hand, he has the opening to get rid of Dracula. One less predator, one less threat, and the world will be better off. Adrian wasn’t exactly clear about what’s happening with Dracula, but the rumors about the murder of his wife must be true with the heaps of evidence Trevor’s seen, namely the dhampir himself, so he can assume the vampire lord is in mourning—and not handling it well. Grief induced insanity isn’t unheard of, but Trevor has a hard time reconciling the inhuman creature that Dracula is painted to be and the innate humanity that is required to be able to lose oneself like that. 

He decides to ignore that and, hopefully, observe for himself. 

Which brings him to the many, many flaws in the very idea of Adrian’s plan. Number one: Trevor has a hard time controlling his reactions. He’s no actor, and he’s never dreamt of being one. Depending on what’s being asked of him, he can probably scrape by, but if this will require behaving like an acne faced pair of teenagers experiencing “love” for the first time… well. Jumping out the nearest window seems like a better option. 

Problem two: would Dracula even believe it? Trevor has no doubt the vampire can see through bullshit—no one lives as long as Dracula without some sense of when he’s being deceived, surely—but that may only be when he’s at full capacity. Without any details from Adrian, Trevor is in the dark on that aspect. If his son thinks he can get away with this farce, then Trevor has little room to argue. 

That however, is where the most glaring issue arises: is this a trap?

God knows why Adrian would pretend to want to fool Dracula, let alone the strange set up of taking people only to release them later on. Trevor knows he’s capable, and his name has much to do with it, but Dracula hasn’t sought out a fight in… far longer than Trevor’s been alive. If this was some elaborate set up to get the last Belmont, there were easier and more effective ways of doing so. Even just thinking that feels a little too self-aggrandizing.

That left two options. Either the vampires were _that_ fucked up and enjoyed psychological torture to the point they must be well and truly insane, or…

Or, Adrian Tepeş is genuinely asking for help, and Dracula is genuinely losing his mind to the point his own son has to step in. 

He has to go on assuming the latter option, since he’ll be dead no matter what in the former. The opportunity, though… Is he able to keep his true intentions hidden? Would he be able to seize a moment of weakness? How would he even begin to play this? What if he fails? Would it trigger something that would impact the rest of the unsuspecting world? Is the situation heading there, anyway?

There’s so much to think on, and Trevor _really_ doesn’t want to. He’s a man of action for a reason, and that’s why, when Adrian knocks what must be hours later, he looks the dhampir in the eye and says “Fine” before the blond can even open his mouth. 

The blink would probably be a full recoil of shock on anyone else, but the relief in Adrian’s demeanor is clear to Trevor. His head relaxes down a few degrees, his fingers stop digging into the edge of the tray he’s holding, and the small frown at the corners of the man’s lips softens. It makes Trevor instinctively want to copy his body language, but he doesn’t let himself do more than lean further against the wall. 

“You will?” Adrian asks, voice as wary as his eyes are intense.

Trevor grunts. “Yeah, it’s my job to take care of shit like this.”

That makes Adrian regain his posture, all business suddenly. “I will tell you now, Belmont, I won’t hand you secret weaknesses against my father. He does not have them, anyway.”

“I probably know the most about Dracula’s weaknesses than anybody else in the damned world, besides the people in this fucking castle,” Trevor can’t help but grumble. He doesn’t need _handouts_ , what the fuck? “You want this shitty plan to work? I need to know what he expects. And we need ground rules.”

“I agree.”

Ignoring the prim response, Trevor says, “I’m not going to kiss you, and you better keep your fangs to yourself— ”

“Not to worry, I’d probably catch something just by looking at your blood,” the dhampir interjects.

Somehow, Trevor manages to be insulted. His blood is as good as anyone’s, fuck you very much. “How the hell did Dracula find a wife then turn around to have a kid as grating as you?”

“My mother found him, more than anything,” Adrian admits ruefully, before looking away. He shakes his head. “Belmont, we can discuss this more at length later. For now, you need to eat. Will you let me look at your wounds this time?” His tone is neutral, but Trevor still glares at his back as he puts down the tray. You get kidnapped and see how you react, he thinks sourly. 

“Do you even know how to?”

“I am more prepared than most who claim to be doctors, so yes. I can give you the gauze and bruise salve if you would rather do it yourself, but I don't recommend it considering you shouldn’t be moving your torso too much at the moment. I also brought some medicine to keep your inflammation down, and for the pain. I don’t suppose you’ll actually do something good for yourself and take them?” Trevor’s flat stare is answer enough, so Adrian sighs. “Your choice,” he says, voice light yet judging. He sets down the small bag on the bed and digs through for the supplies he’ll use. Turning to the Hunter, Adrian asks, “May I?”

Trevor considers saying no, but the pain is a little… much. Instead he grunts and sits up, allowing the dhampir into his space reluctantly. Confident hands begin feeling around his side and towards his back. He has to fight down groans as Adrian presses upon bruised muscles, the ache turning into a sharp pain somewhere in his lower rib cage. 

“You know, you’re quite lucky to have avoided puncturing one of your organs,” Adrian says idly, concentrating on his task. "I don’t have the training for surgery, so you would have probably died had that been the case.”

"Comforting," Trevor tries to say, but it cuts off into a whimper when Adrian finds another particularly painful spot.

Pausing, Adrian’s eyes flick to Trevor’s face for a moment before returning to the darkening bruises. "Apologies," he mutters. He grabs the tub of salve, beginning to spread it across Trevor’s side. “This also has numbing properties, so though it won’t help your internal pain, you’ll be slightly less sensitive.”

“How do you even have all that?” Trevor asks suspiciously, pettily annoyed Adrian didn’t tell him that at first. “How often did Dracula break his wife?”

Adrian freezes, then tilts his head up to hiss, eyes glowing, “Do not presume to know anything of my family and be sure to keep _my mother_ from your mouth. My father loves my mother with all his being and if you so much as mention her in front of him, you will be gutted before you know it’s happened. Am I clear, Belmont?” This close, Trevor has a very clear view of his long, white fangs bared in a snarl. He tenses automatically, intensely aware of the manicured hand on his injured side, of how easy it would be for that hand to incapacitate him just long enough to—

To what, kill him? Torture him? He’s already thought this through, he doesn’t want to do it again.

With the instinctive fight reflex repressed, Trevor realizes what he just said and who he said it to. Okay, Trevor thinks with a small wince, maybe that comment was uncalled for. It’s hard to wrap his head around the fact Dracula had a wife at all, let alone a son, but it’s even harder to imagine any kind of love existing between them all. Regardless of that, this dhampir lost his mother. He’s not entirely convinced of a vampire’s ability to have actual relationships, but perhaps the human half does make a difference here.

Slowly, Trevor gives a small nod but it must satisfy Adrian enough, because he glares only a second longer and then continues to treat Trevor’s injury. His movements are stiffer now, somehow even more clinical than before, but he doesn’t hurt Trevor any more than is unavoidable. The silence is tense. While his ribs are being wrapped, Trevor stares at the wall behind the blond head in his peripheral and uncomfortably says, “Sorry about... that. I didn’t—” mean it? Yes he did. “—think.” There, that’s accurate enough.

“How out of character for you, speaking without thinking,” Adrian scoffs. Trevor almost wants to argue they’ve only known each other for little more than a day, but it’s not like he’s wrong. So, he just keeps staring at the wall and swallows the sound of relief he wants to make when Adrian finishes and moves away. 

There’s a tray on the ground, next to the old one that Trevor didn’t touch. No comment is made about it, Adrian simply handing him the one with a new bowl of warm broth and bread. This time, there’s what looks like vegetables in the broth, and a glass of water. Staring down at the liquids gently swaying in their containers, he’s suddenly reminded— “I need to piss,” Trevor says bluntly.

It must take Adrian by surprise, because he blinks woodenly for a moment before saying, “Ah, right. You’ll have to come with me to the bathroom. We don’t have chamber pots.” 

“So what do you have then?” Trevor asks dubiously.

“A toilet,” Adrian responds.

Trevor waits for more but Adrian just continues looking at him blandly. “And what the fuck is a toilet?”

“A more hygenic chamber pot, I suppose,” he says airily.

“What’s the fucking difference?”

“It relies on plumbing to work.”

“Plumbing? The fuck is—" He stops himself, feeling unreasonably irritated. It hits him a second later. "You’re enjoying this,” Trevor accuses, the realization ringing true despite the lack of expression on Adrian’s face. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, are you going to get up or are you going to ask more inane questions?”

“Fuck you,” Trevor grumbles. He scoots to the edge of the bed ungracefully, trying not to spill the liquids on the tray and avoid getting tangled in the blankets while Adrian simply watches on without helping. 

“Fuck you, too,” Adrian replies with a small, mocking smile. “You’ll need pants to go out, you know. What did you do with the clothing I gave you?”

“Somewhere on the bed.”

Sighing, Adrian spots them and has pity enough to gather the button up and trousers for him. “Did you really sit here for four hours and do nothing?”

“I’m in _pain_.”

“Mmhm. Or does thinking take up that much of your energy?” Adrian asks drolly.

Trevor shoots a glare at him, but notices Adrian is offering the clothes in his direction without looking at him. He snorts. “What? You undressed me, why are you getting shy now?”

“I don’t know why I bothered, of course you don’t know anything of propriety,” Adrian mutters, laughing under his breath. “Would you rather I stare at your crotch? Perhaps drool while I’m at it?”

“You’re the one who has to act like you want me, aren’t you?” Trevor retorts. He finally gets to his feet, not acknowledging how much of a struggle it was, and takes the clothing. The fabric is nice, a thick wool, and completely free of dirt or stains, which is something he hasn’t been able to say about his clothes in… awhile. Then he realizes he has to get dressed. Fuck. 

“I’ll work on it,” is the dry promise he hears from far too close. He looks up to see Adrian beside him, raising an eyebrow. “Do you need help, Belmont?” Gritting his teeth, Trevor tries to think of a way he can get the pants on without keeling over, and it must show on his face because Adrian chuckles. “Your pride will murder you before any night creature does. Lift your leg.” It’s not a request. Adrian is already kneeling beside him, pants somehow in hand.

“I’m not lifting my fucking leg, get off the damned ground. I’ll figure it out!”

“Oh, be an adult about this, please. By the time you put on your pants you’ll have pissed yourself or passed out from pain, and also have pissed yourself.”

“Fuck. You.” The bastard is so fucking amused, Trevor can tell. Unfortunately for Adrian, he truly doesn’t know the extent of Trevor’s stubbornness. In a swift movement, Trevor has pulled the pants from Adrian’s unsuspecting grip, dropped back onto the bed, and shoved both his feet into the holes. The result is an immense amount of pain, some soup sloshing out of the bowl, and an incredulous dhampir staring up at him, but his lower half is clothed. Vision swimming, Trevor feels like he just sprinted a mile while a rabid dog chewed on his side. Still, victory is sweet. “See? Did it,” he says as his lips pull into something like a smug grin, pained though it is.

After a moment, Adrian stands up. He tilts his head, blond hair falling across his cheek, and crosses his arms. Utterly unimpressed, he states, “They’re on backwards.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> adrian is gonna take his petty revenges where he can, believe me, but so will trevor 
> 
> thanks for still reading and the kudos/comments :) i really appreciate them


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